Terminator Salvation: Trial by Fire

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

For Kyle, the first hour was the hardest.

It wasn’t just the darkness. Darkness was a familiar part of the post-Judgment Day world, and like everyone else he’d learned how to adapt and adjust. Not knowing where they were going, or even if the passageway beneath the Terminators’ tunnel would lead anywhere at all, was also not a big deal. Uncertainty was as much a part of life as darkness.

What set Kyle’s skin crawling was the periodic rhythmic thumping overhead as the lines of T-700s first marched to the face of the excavation to collect rubble, then headed back again with their fresh burdens to wherever they had found to dump them.

Those were the hard moments. Because those were the moments when a careless move on Kyle’s or Callahan’s or Zac’s part—a slip of a foot, an accidental dislodging of one of the jagged pieces of concrete or metal they were crawling over—would alert the Terminators to the human intruders.

And once the machines knew where they were, they would be dead. All of them.

Just like Yarrow.

Kyle thought a lot about Yarrow as they traveled. He thought some about the man’s last big mistake, the mistake that had trapped Kyle and the others down here.

But everyone made mistakes. Mostly, what Kyle thought about was the way Yarrow had done what he could to atone for his error by sending the others to safety.

He also found himself wondering how exactly Yarrow had died.

Kyle hadn’t heard any sounds as the T-700s had reached him. Maybe Yarrow hadn’t had time, or maybe the rolling echo of his last gunshots had covered up whatever screams or moans of agony he’d made before the end. Kyle hoped it had been quick, that the Terminators had simply broken his neck or hammer-crushed his chest or done something that would let their victim die quickly.

But all he actually knew was that the death had involved blood. A lot of blood.

He also knew that if the Terminators found him, he would probably die in very much the same way.

It wasn’t Kyle’s own death that worried him. He’d learned long ago not to focus on that, because it did nothing but freeze his will and paralyze any chance of thinking his way out of a bad situation.

But all the mental discipline in the world couldn’t stop him from worrying about Star.

What would happen to her if he died down here?

It was a question that had forced itself on him many, many times. At the moment, settled as she was into John Connor’s Resistance force, her chances of survival were better than at most of the times in their past together. Certainly better than any place she’d been since they left the Moldering Lost Ashes building.

But things changed. People changed. Connor might be taking a personal interest in the two of them now, though why he would even care about a couple of inexperienced kids Kyle couldn’t guess.

But the Resistance leader had a million other things clamoring for his attention. Sooner or later, he would forget about them.

And even if he didn’t, could anyone else ever understand Star, or give her the attention and care she needed? Kyle was the only one who shared their private history. The only one who understood her brand of sign language, appreciated the way she thought and felt, and knew where she hurt.

If he died down here, she would die too. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but sooner or later she would give up and die.

But Kyle didn’t make that last, fatal mistake as the T-700s passed back and forth overhead. Neither did Callahan or Zac. And as the pathway they were following angled off from directly beneath the Terminators’ tunnel the footsteps became more and more distant until they finally faded away completely.

Which didn’t mean the going became any easier. Far from it. The explosion that had leveled Skynet Central had sent underground shock waves across the entire San Francisco peninsula. Everything that had been part of that grand complex had been reduced to a tangled mess of shattered concrete and bent or broken support girders. Callahan, who had taken point, was picking his way through the rubble by touch alone, sometimes finding passages barely wide enough to squeeze through, sometimes finding routes that led in the wrong direction. Occasionally he hit a dead end that required them to back up and try again.

Once, they came upon an actual almost untouched room, with slightly buckled walls, a ceiling they could stand upright beneath, and a floor that they could really and truly walk on. It was such a relief to be able to move around like humans instead of moles that they nearly missed the fact that the floor was only half there.

Zac nearly died with that discovery—fortunately Kyle was close enough to grab his arm before he went over the edge. After that, they went back to crawling, no matter how safe the landscape seemed to be.

They’d been going for a couple of hours, and the rumbling in Kyle’s empty stomach had become an almost continuous growl, when Callahan called a halt.

“How are you doing?” he murmured as they hunched together in the darkness.

Kyle shivered. How was he doing? He was cold, hungry, thirsty, and scared. His hands were raw and blistered, with a hundred tiny cuts from the rough concrete and shards of metal that lay along their path. His knees were agony, and he could feel the wetness of blood oozing into his pant legs as he crawled along. He had fresh bruises on his elbows and head where he’d missed some protruding obstacle with his groping hands as he crawled. The image of Yarrow’s dead body continued to hover in front of his face in the darkness. So did Star’s face. How was he doing?

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Me, too,” Zac seconded.

“Okay.” Callahan’s groping hand found Kyle’s and pressed a small piece of something into it. “I always carry a snack bar with me, just in case something goes wrong. Steiner? Here’s yours.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, resisting the impulse to wolf down his third of the bar. Better to nibble slowly and make it last as long as possible. “Any idea where we are?”

“Hard to tell,” Callahan said. “We took a lot of twists and turns along the way. I’m guessing we’ve covered around two hundred meters, maybe two-fifty, with the Terminators’ tunnel about ten meters to our left. Assuming it went more or less straight, that is.”

“Two hundred meters would put us inside the nighttime sentry ring,” Zac murmured. “If they’re that far in, they could be planning to attack tonight.”

“Maybe,” Callahan said. “But just getting inside the perimeter isn’t going to do much for them. Besides, they’re going to way too much trouble for just a raid.”

“What trouble?” Zac scoffed. “It’s not like they’ve got anything else to do right now.”

“I was thinking about that H-K they threw against the camp last night,” Callahan said. “Why bother? Especially since Skynet must have known we had enough firepower to take it down.”

“Okay,” Zac said. “So why do it?”

“Maybe it was a diversion,” Kyle suggested. “No, not a diversion,” he corrected himself as the image of those heavily loaded T-700s in the tunnel came back to him. “It was cover. The Terminators needed to do some blasting or heavy work at the tunnel face. Skynet crashed the H-K so we wouldn’t hear or feel the other explosion.”

“That’s my guess, too,” Callahan said. “Same idea with the T-600 and the T-700s who came marching into camp. Again, why bother?”

Kyle shook his head. “No idea.”

“Think about it,” Callahan said. “How did we get down here in the first place?”

“Through the conduit,” Zac said, sounding puzzled.

“Except that the only reason we knew the conduit might lead somewhere was because of the hole under the T-600,” Kyle said as he suddenly understood. “It didn’t make the hole by falling. It fell so that it could cover the hole.”

“You got it,” Callahan said. “Remember how its arms were splayed out to the sides? It fell like that to spread out its weight so that it wouldn’t break all the way through when it landed.”

Kyle nodded, remembering now how the T-600 had just stood there motionless at the end, defiantly firing and taking fire until it fell.

“That’s also why Skynet sent in a T-600 along with the T-700s,” he said. “T-600s have enough bulk to cover the hole. T-700s don’t.”

“Clever, huh?” Callahan said sourly. “And think about this: if Zac hadn’t taken his brass-hunting job so seriously we might have walked right past it.”

“But this is insane,” Zac protested. “If Skynet wants to flatten us, why not just do it? Why bother with a tunnel? What’s it going to do, bring in some really big bomb and plant it under the HQ tent?”

“I don’t know what it’s planning,” Callahan said. “But one thing’s for sure: whatever the goal is, Skynet must figure it’s worth the effort.”

There was a scraping of boots on concrete.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Callahan said. “Time to find a way back to the tunnel and see what Skynet’s got planned for tonight.”

The T-700 that had fallen into the ravine hadn’t seemed to Blair to be in particularly bad shape. Given the interest Skynet had already shown in tracking down the fugitive, she fully expected the machine to mount another attack somewhere on their walk back to the ford. But to her surprise, they arrived without the Terminator making an appearance. Her next guess was that it was lurking somewhere near the ford, waiting until they were slogging through the water before striking, possibly in a pincer maneuver with the T-700 that had gone north earlier along the east bank.

But once again, Skynet passed on the obvious. Preston and Hope were already waiting on the far side of the bank with the three guards as Blair, Barnes, and Jik reached the ford, with no sign of Terminators on either side of the river. Nothing attacked, from either direction, as the three of them headed across.

Only once was there a tense moment, when Jik got his feet tangled with one of the arms from the T-700 that Barnes had shredded earlier with his minigun. Even then, he managed to keep his balance until Barnes reached him and held his arm while he got his feet free. Barnes himself made it across without any trouble at all, and even with her aching leg Blair did the same. It seemed like Skynet had simply given up.

And that worried Blair. A lot. Because Skynet didn’t give up, any more than its Terminators did. If it wasn’t attacking at this particular moment, it was only because it was playing some other game.

Problem was, Blair had no idea what that game might be.

On the short walk back to town Blair kept an eye on their backtrail, just in case Skynet decided to go with a delayed punch. But again, the Terminators were nowhere to be seen.

They had reached Baker’s Hollow when they finally met their first real obstacle.

It was Halverson. And he was furious.

“What the hell’s going on?” he snarled as the group emerged into view along the trail. His eyes flicked across Jik, shifted briefly to Barnes and Blair, then settled on Preston. “We heard gunfire.”

“That was us,” Preston confirmed. “We were out doing a little hunting.” He nodded toward Jik. “We think we’ve found—”

“What part of them coming to my house didn’t you get?” Halverson cut him off.

Blair looked sideways at Preston. His throat was tight, but when he spoke his voice was calm enough.

“They did go to your house,” he reminded the other. “What happened after that was none of my doing.”

“You saying they just sneaked out of my bedroom window on their own?” Halverson demanded. “That you didn’t call to them, or invite them, or anything else?”

“I did nothing at all,” Preston said. “I didn’t even know they’d left your house. If I had, I’d certainly have urged them to return.”

“Sure you would.” Halverson shifted his glare to Barnes. “My hospitality not good enough for you?”

Unfortunately for him, glares didn’t work nearly as well on Barnes as they did on Preston.

“Your hospitality’s fine,” Barnes told him. “Wish I could say the same about your attitude.”

Halverson’s face hardened.

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re an idiot,” Barnes said flatly. “Are you even listening?”

“I’m listening just fine,” Halverson shot back. He jabbed a finger at Jik. “If this is the guy the Terminators are after, what the hell are you doing bringing him into town?”

“You really think his presence will affect Skynet’s decision about what to do with you?” Preston asked.

“Not having him here has worked pretty well so far,” Halverson bit back. “So has leaving Skynet alone.”

“So that it will leave you alone?” Jik spoke up. “Yes, I’ve heard that philosophy before. The people who live by it usually don’t live very long.”

“Maybe you’d like to debate the point with the philosopher himself,” Halverson said sarcastically.

Jik smiled faintly. “Indeed I would,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to fetch him for me.”

“While you’re at it, go get the other two,” Barnes added. “Tell them to meet us at Preston’s place.”

“Forget it,” Halverson said. “If we’re going to meet anywhere—” He broke off, and Blair saw in his eyes the sudden recognition of what having a prime Skynet target in his home might mean. “Fine,” he said. “Preston’s house. I’ll tell them.” With a final glare at Barnes, he turned and strode off.

“My house is this way,” Preston said, beckoning to Jik.

“He’s right, you know,” Jik commented quietly as they set off again. “My presence here does put you at additional risk. Whatever happens, I’m afraid your life here will never be the same again.”

Preston shrugged, a little too casually.

“That possibility’s been hanging over our heads for a long time,” he pointed out. “Since Judgment Day, really.”

“True,” Jik agreed. “The difference is that while I bring danger, I also bring hope.”

“What kind of hope?” Blair asked.

“The very best kind,” Jik assured her. “Before I go into that, let’s hear what these pacifist philosophers have to say.”

Blair exchanged looks with Barnes.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Let’s.”